


Coop de Grâce

by justcourbeau



Series: youtube au [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, F/M, Slow Burn, bughead - Freeform, bughead trash, youtube au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcourbeau/pseuds/justcourbeau
Summary: Betty moves to New York City for school, and on a whim, she posts a video on YouTube. AU. Slow Burn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Hi! A few things -**

**I know there's technically a spelling error in the title. It's intentional.**

**This is my first foray into a fandom - that isn't HP - in a long time. I'm nervous about it. But I love Riverdale way too much and I just cannot _not_ write for it, especially since we get no more new content until October 11th. **

**This one is an AU. (I'm currently working on a few other small ideas that are waaay more canon in nature, but I can't resist a good AU. Obviously. So to clarify: Betty grew up in Riverdale, but Archie, Jughead, and Veronica did not. Don't worry, they'll be around soon enough.**

* * *

 

She hits ‘Upload’ and purposely turns away from her computer. Her gut is in knots and she doesn’t know what will happen or if people will even take interest - they probably won’t and she’ll have about 7 views and then she’ll know this wasn’t her calling after all - but all the same -

It’s nerve wracking.

Betty Cooper moved to New York City for a fresh start, for something _more_ than Riverdale could offer her. Small-town charm was, well, _charming_ , and she missed it sometimes. Walking down very quiet side streets, never having to worry that someone might be following her in the dark. Hearing the June bugs in the grassy meadows behind Pop’s, the heat of summer stifling and humid against her skin.

Of course, New York had that too. It was like the buildings held the heat from the sun and radiated it back to passers-by, regardless of the fact that the most recent heat wave had been, quite literally, deadly. Heat stations were popping up across the city in an effort to give citizens a resource when it came down to the hottest temperatures New York had seen in a few years.

Being a bundle of nerves was no new experience for Betty, and so to combat the roiling in her stomach, she pulls on her runners and descends from the penthouse suite into the bustling streets. As she warms up for a run around the neighbourhood, she tries to push the thought of her first YouTube video out of her mind.

It’s harder than she thought, ignoring the gnawing feeling in her intestines, the dizziness that crops up when she thinks about the fact that she had just uploaded her face to the internet and now it’s out there and it can never really be _undone,_ even if she changes her mind and takes it down.

The pounding of her feet on the sidewalk, though, helps. It’s rhythmic. Rhythms and patterns and predictability had always suited her, especially when she feels like she isn’t completely in control. She keeps the beat even, her legs pumping in even-paced synchronicity. Against all odds, the background noise begins to fade and the sound of her own steady breathing fills her ears and pleases her in a way she’s sure can’t be entirely healthy. She spends the rest of her run counting the beats between inhales, the beats between each left step, and examining the carefully-curated pattern they create together.

Betty arrives back at the penthouse she still isn’t sure she actually _lives_ in, sweaty and flushed and thirsty as all get out. The summer sun had spent the entire time beating down on her shoulders and making her skin damp and sticky. The doorman greets her kindly, as he always has, and lets her into the lift.

With every floor that she ascends, Betty can feel the tight grip of anxiety on her trachea grow and she shoves it away under the metaphorical carpet.

This whole experiment had been a side project to keep her busy while she settled herself in the city; having no friends made her keenly aware of her own loneliness and actually posting the video had been an exercise in human connection. Her roommate was great, but they hadn’t spent much time together since her move in day.

Veronica Lodge was a busy woman. Busy with _what_ exactly, Betty wasn’t sure. The dark-haired goddess that lived down the hall from her always seemed to be dressed like she was on her way to a formal dinner or philanthropic fundraiser. Veronica was hardly ever home as well, due to the fact that she spent copious amounts of time at her boyfriend’s place.

It suited Betty just fine, but the apartment was sometimes much too quiet for her liking.

She peels off her clothes upon entrance into the suite, balling up the warm, damp fabric and dumping in her laundry bin as she passes her door. The bathroom was magnificent, and Betty still wasn’t used to the luxury she seemed to have stumbled into, luxury she was sure she would never see again after moving out, whenever that came around.

The ad on Craigslist had intentionally not had good quality pictures, according to Veronica. She didn’t want hoards of people to interview for the position of her roommate. She was a very particular girl, it seemed, and she had spent 40 minutes interrogating Betty about herself before concluding that yes, she was a good match.

And the rent was surprisingly cheap.

“I’m not here trying to gouge you; I already know that you’re enrolled in school and you likely can’t work full-time. I just want a trustworthy roommate who isn’t a total ass, who respects privacy, and in return, you have a nice place to live at less than the cost of a gross bachelor suite in any place not on the East Side. Pretty simple,” Veronica had replied after Betty asked why the rent was so low, low enough that Betty’s saving account probably wouldn’t even have to be dunked into. “Besides, Daddy owns the place.”

Betty was incredibly grateful.

The brunette had given her the tour, and Betty had been speechless. Wide-open windows, expanses of hardwood, veined marble. Betty hadn’t even known how pretty authentic crown moulding was until every room of the apartment had showcased it obviously.

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of your kindness,” she had mumbled at the time, to which Veronica had scoffed.

“Hardly,” she’d answered. “Plus, I have a feeling we’ll be great friends.”

Betty didn’t really see _how_ , considering their incredibly different upbringing, but nonetheless, her roommate was pleasant and cheerful and she couldn’t ask for more.

After scrubbing her skin squeaky clean, Betty emerges from the palatial bathroom in a cloud of steam and a plush white robe with her initials monogrammed on the front pocket. Part of Veronica’s welcome gift. She wasn’t used to girls being so friendly and not having ulterior motives. Back in Riverdale, well…

It was a small town. Football and cheerleading were the epitome of popularity, and Betty had definitely not been a River Vixen. Cheryl Blossom had seen to that, perpetually making Betty the awkward centre of attention just so she could embarrass her.

But, thankfully, Veronica was different.

* * *

 

Weeks passed.

As usual, Betty had been overreacting to the posting of her video. While she _did_ get more than 7 hits, it wasn’t that many more. But no mean comments or hecklers, so she decided to keep posting little pieces, and seeing where it might go. In the very least, she would have something to look back on _and_ something to put in her portfolio, if she decided to go the journalism route. She could appreciate having a secret card in her back pocket to pull out in case of emergencies.

And then -

 _Then_ her 5 minute-43 second video on animal conditions at a local pet shelter was cited in a Buzzfeed article, and everything changed.

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you think so far!** **I'm really new to AO3, so be gentle with me.**


	2. Chapter 2

It was just a small piece on the animal conditions at a nearby shelter, one that had been inspired by her stopping at the glass window on her way home, unable to resist the call of the kittens, front and centre. After some time cuddling a very fluffy ginger cat, Betty had noticed the slight dinginess of the place. It hadn't been overt, but instead it was the small things that piqued her curiosity. It didn't smell quite as clean as she had anticipated it would, and there was mop residue around the edges of the room, dulling, grey, and streaky. And then the intermittent scratching of the small, furry patients caught her eye.

_Fleas._

It wasn't uncommon, she was sure. _That_ many animals in such a small space meant things must spread quickly. Like small children, daycare, and cold-sharing. It didn't seem to be from lack of care; there were employees clearly visible, actively caring for the animals and cleaning, so she doubted very much it had to do with the people working here.

So, when her mother's voice had cropped up in her head - " _Leave it alone, Betty_ ," - she'd immediately disregarded it and approached the closest worker.

For his part, he didn't really seem comfortable answering all her questions about his work place, but eventually she learned that their funding had been cut and that flea treatment hadn't been provided for a few weeks; they were scrambling to find a solution.

So Betty'd set to work.

* * *

"Oh, Betty, good," Veronica waltzes in through Betty's open door, hands clasped in front of her chest. "I wanted to let you know Daddy made a generous contribution to the shelter you mentioned in your video, and I made him promise he would mention it to his board as well."

Betty blinks.

"What?"

"The shelter? Don't tell me you've forgotten. Buzzfeed hasn't."

"...What?" she repeats, feeling confusion hinder her ability to put the puzzle pieces together.

"Oh my god, did you not see?" Veronica whips her phone out of her bag and steps closer to show her.

There's her face, in the thumbnail for one of her latest videos, embedded in a Buzzfeed article and suddenly things get extremely and uncomfortably unfocused. Blood is rushing in her veins and whooshing in her ears and her vision is black and spotty and -

"Hey, stay with me," Veronica's voice is detached from her body, her face, and Betty blinks blindly. "I'm so sorry, I thought you _knew_. I think it's _fantastic_ , why didn't you say you were -"

Veronica continues buzzing away on the subject as Betty concentrates on breathing. Her face. Her video. Her story.

 _Massive_ platform.

Exposure.

What had she _done_?

"Daddy says they didn't know about it either, until he showed up to see the place himself and - well, anyway, he made a donation."

* * *

Betty doesn't know what to do, and so for the following week, she keeps her head down and doesn't make any more videos and watches her view count rise and rise and rise. Deciding she should probably go apologize to the shelter, Betty dresses and leaves the apartment.

"Hi," she starts awkwardly, "is there a manager or a supervisor around I could speak to?"

"One secon - oh! Oh my gosh!"

The girl is staring at her, eyes wide and bright.

"You're the girl who made the video!"

Betty grimaces.

"Yeah, look, I'm _really_ sorry I didn't ask permission or -"

There's a lot of action and shuffling and suddenly her hand is being seized. An older man is shaking it enthusiastically, and he's positively beaming at her.

"CoopDeGrâce? You're really her?" he asks, hopeful.

"I - yes, that's me. Well, that's my _channel_ name, really - I'm Betty Cooper."

And she spends the next hour being introduced to the employees and then the animals, all of which seem to be scratching at their collars much less than they had been the last time she was here. She stands for people, for pictures with her, has her hand shaken many times, has thanks pressed into her bewildered state.

She was expecting to have to apologize; she used clips from her phone in the video, none of which had been authorized by the establishment. She was expecting -

Not this.

"Our donations have gone up considerably in the last week, and it's undeniably because of you, Betty. Thank you; I don't know how we would have continued for any substantial amount of time if you hadn't taken it upon yourself -"

With their words echoing around inside her cranium, she manages to leave, to shake off their hands and their embraces and their close proximity, and she take a deep, deep breath when she steps out onto the street.

Well.

That was unexpected.

* * *

"People are tweeting you. Like, a lot."

Veronica appears in the kitchen on Sunday morning, and Betty jumps at the sound of her voice.

"Veronica - hi," she blurts.

The dark-haired woman is decked in silk pajama shorts, the royal shade of purple suiting her skin tone, and a breezy top Betty's sure is designed to withstand the summer heat of the city.

"Yes, _hi_ ," she continues, pouring herself some of the coffee Betty made less than an hour ago. "People are _tweeting_ you."

"How? I don't have a Twitter." _A Twitter_. Betty rolls her eyes.

"I know, so I made you one," she chirrups.

"You _what_?" Betty's jaw drops open.

"People need to be able to interact with you, Betty," Veronica informs her, and Betty blinks, frozen.

" _Why_? Why would they ever want to do that?"

"Are you even aware of social media? I mean, I thought you were, because of the channel but, like, how up on modern technology are you?"

Betty's blank look must have told Veronica all she needed to know, because she launches into a speech about how she made Betty accounts on all the major social media platforms so that she could have the same handle across the board, before people started taking them in her place.

"It's good business, Betty. People want to talk to you about the content you've put out. Honestly, I had _no_ idea you were into this reporting thing." Veronica takes another sip of coffee.

"I didn't either, really," Betty says. "My parents own a small town paper, but I've never seriously considered following in their footsteps…"

"Uh, I think this is setting a precedent, actually. Anyway, what's your email? I'll transfer them all to you. I haven't responded to anything on your behalf, of course, so you have some catch up to do."

* * *

Betty spends the afternoon lost in trying to figure out the difference between a retweet and a subtweet, and how exactly hashtags work. To her credit, she seems to catch on pretty quickly.

'@CoopDeGrâce _I adopted the orange tabby from your video!_ '

'@CoopDeGrâce _you are soooo pretty_ '

'@CoopDeGrâce _great little video! Pls make more_ '

'@CoopDeGrâce _how do u curl ur hair i need to know_ '

And on and on. Veronica was right. She's been mentioned a bunch of times, and responds to as many tweets as possible before eating becomes necessary. It's all a blur to her, and her phone will not shut up.

"Why don't you disable notifications?" Veronica asks casually, and Betty makes a mental note to look into it later when she can actually think again.

"Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose, though?" she asks the other girl.

"No, you can always look through your mentions and stuff. Should we get pizza tonight? I think we should get pizza tonight."

* * *

**A/N: Can't stop, won't stop.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

She thought, rather naively, that this YouTube thing would be a one way street. That she would put out videos a few times a month and she might get a constant, if small, stream of random, wandering internet people across her channel.

You know, like when it's 2am and you've found yourself many clicks deep in YouTube via the 'suggested for you' box and you can't completely remember how you got there? Like that. She figured people like _that_ would be watching her clips.

It wasn't even like she had anywhere close to the amount of subscribers as the Big Leagues, but it was more than she expected, by far; a number in the thousands, steadily, slowly climbing.

A few weeks after the initial incident, Betty decided to commit her summer to establishing some sort of control and schedule for her posts, and to learn how to use all the new facets of the now-multitasking weapon in her hand - her phone. She also applied around the neighbourhood for some part-time job openings, hoping there would be some place willing to give her lots of hours so she could save a few extra bucks before the fall semester started.

Veronica and Betty wander around the grocery store - or rather, Betty shops and Veronica follows after her, eyes glued to her phone screen and yet also somehow able to not walk into things. Veronica is, as usual, dressed impeccably, and her heels click behind Betty evenly.

"V?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you want for dinner?"

"Whatever you want to make, B," is the answer she receives. "I'm here for moral support only."

Veronica Lodge, a woman extremely aware of her cooking capabilities. Or incapabilities, as it was.

A minute later, Veronica gasps, and Betty places the can of crushed tomatoes she was holding into the cart.

"We should go to Playlist Live! It's coming to New York in August."

Betty looks up at her and blinks.

"Well, when I say _we_ \- I mean, you should go, and I should come with you! Good idea, right? I'm gonna buy tickets." Veronica disappears behind her phone again and Betty nods.

That wasn't a bad idea. She could meet other creators and maybe get some inside tips on how to handle tech stuff. It was basically a big convention, right?

"Do you mind if I invite Archie?"

"Of course not," Betty laughs. "Hey, does he know anything about cameras?"

"Uhh, I don't know. Probably? And I think he has a friend who does film stuff. I'll ask."

* * *

She clenches and then unclenches her fists. No, that wouldn't help right now. Interviews were anxiety-inducing but no one would hire the girl who came to the meeting with blood in her palms. Instead, she wraps her hands around the strap of her bag and inhales, holding it for a moment.

When Betty releases the breath, she steps into the restaurant.

After, she returns home to find Veronica waiting for her, feet curled under herself, wedged into one of the comfortable sofas in the living room, the furniture nearly swallowing her small frame whole.

"How did it go?!" she demands, eyes wide with hope.

"I got the jo-o-ob!" Betty grins, feeling the lightness in her chest at the news.

"Oh my god, _slay_ ," she squeals. "We should celebrate!"

Veronica's phone rings as she's jumping around with Betty and she pauses to answer it.

"Archikins! Betty just got good news and we have to celebrate. Can I meet you tomorrow instead?"

"What? _No_ ," Betty spoke up. "Don't cancel on him for me."

"Archie doesn't mind, do you Arch?" Veronica speaks into the phone with a pointed look in Betty's direction.

" _I_ don't mind, either," she responds.

"Good. Archie can celebrate _with_ us then!"

* * *

"I can't accept that," Betty gawks, eyes wide at the item in Archie's hands.

"Seriously, I don't use it. I went through a photography phase a while back," Veronica's boyfriend is saying.

He's just met her and he's holding a digital camera out to her as an offering.

"I really can't -"

"If I want it back for some reason, I'll ask, okay?" Archie's ginger hair is bright in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the front window and Betty is reminded of the Olympic torch. Archie Andrews fits the description of athlete, anyway.

"Meanwhile, it's just sitting in his closet gathering dust," Veronica throws out.

"But…" Betty was running out of excuses.

"If you don't take his _used_ camera, I'll buy you a new one."

Betty baulks and accepts the surprisingly heavy piece of equipment, weighing it carefully in her hands.

* * *

" _Why_ are we collecting all the recycling from our floor?" Veronica asks. "You know there's bins downstairs for that, right? That the maid takes it all down whenever she comes in?

"I know; that's where I found all this," Betty laughs.

Veronica wrinkles her nose.

"But _why_?"

"Here," Betty offers her a clear garbage bag and V joins her in filling it up with freshly rinsed plastic bottles of all shapes and sizes. "There's a recycling drive in Brooklyn and I'm covering it. We're going to show our support for the Green Initiative."

"Oh, cute," she agrees with an enthusiastic nod.

"Will you man the camera for a clip or two?" Betty asks, knowing the answer before she even opens her mouth.

"I'd be honoured."

* * *

It's hot in the sunshine, and her shirt is sticking to her back in the most unpleasant fashion. She tries not to think about the dark spots of sweat that were undoubtedly there, out of eyesight for her. Veronica has dressed down for the occasion, in a casual pair of workout shorts and a tank. Regardless of the heat, she didn't seem to be sweating like a beast, and Betty sighs. It was all for a good cause.

One of the other volunteers hands her a bottle of cold water, and Betty thanks her, touching it to her forehead. It's deliciously icy and she twists it open for a mouthful. Brightened, Betty grins at a passing walker but it's not reciprocated.

She sighs again.

"Betty, Archie is offering to bring us smoothies, do you want one?" Veronica catches her attention, approaching and dabbing her face with the hem of her shirt. "I would _kill_ for something cold and sustaining right now."

"Actually, me too. Are you sure he won't mind?" Betty frets.

"He offered all by himself," she beams, waving her phone at Betty, who takes it at face value with a laugh. "Something with strawberries in it?"

" _Please_ ," Betty groans appreciatively.

When Archie arrives half an hour later, the girls walk with him to a nearby park, Veronica chattering away about their afternoon of volunteering. The Brooklyn Bridge is behind them and they flop unceremoniously to the grass. Betty follows along with their conversation, actively participating, however sporadically. The sun sinks a little lower in the sky, still blazing hot, and Betty readjusts her baseball cap, pony tail poking out the back like a messy tuft of hay; she's under no illusions.

"I'll be right back. I'm inspired," Veronica says, before lifting herself off the grass and taking the camera out to the boardwalk to snap a few pictures of the skyline.

Archie offers Betty a smile before reclining on the grass a few feet away from where she's stretched out.

"I really feel like I should say thank you," he says after a period of silence, and Betty's not convinced he actually spoke until he continues. "You make her more… aware, I think. You know, of _real life_."

She flushes lightly, though she's pretty sure no one would be able to tell anyway since her skin is already pink from exertion.

"She does live in her own world sometimes," Betty concedes.

"Sometimes?" he snorts.

"True."

Despite her initial impression of Veronica, her and Betty got along quite well, and if Betty wasn't completely mistaken, they were developing a pretty good friendship. She was hesitant to put too much stock in it because of past experiences, but…

It was nice to have a friend. One who was kind and passionate and determined, if a bit disconnected from the Average Joe lifestyle.

* * *

'@CoopDeGrâce _is like the female hufflepuff version of_ @jugheadjonesiii _, but with extra hufflepuff_ '

"Who's Jughead Jones?" Betty asks hesitantly.

"He's the film guy I said Archie knew a while back. Why?" Veronica looks up from her effort to paint her toenails.

"People keep mentioning us in the same tweets a lot lately."

"Oh my god, really? Adorable."

"How? Have you met him? Is he a giant dick?"

"What qualifies as 'giant' here, because this is New York, not Riverdale, and I don't know what your expectations are, B."

Betty laughs.

"Though to be honest," the raven-haired girl continues, "he's not really a dick. I mean, _not really_. Dark and brooding, yes. Intense, yes. I've met him a few times. He seemed nice enough."

* * *

**A/N: Really loving the feedback. Thank you so much!**


	4. Chapter 4

She types "Jughead Jones" into the search bar and is immediately presented with his channel and his own twitter account in the results. Betty taps around, investigating how this _Jughead Jones_ interacts with his followers and curiously tries to decypher what his content type is without actually scrolling through his videos.

_Jughead?_ Her face scrunches up in confusion. Who decides to go with a nickname like that?

His Twitter commentary points to dry sarcasm and she squints closer at his icon picture. Finally, she clicks it.

He's just what she expects from Veronica's description of "dark and brooding" and "intense". His face is slender, his nose is long-ish, his hair is… kinda cute. Thick-looking and wavy. Caving to her inner demand, she finds him on YouTube and begins to flick around, not entirely certain she even wants to be in this area of the internet.

Woah -

This dude sounded _smart_. He made videos about things Betty wouldn't even know where to begin with. Political issues, crime, ethics.

Meanwhile, she's over in her corner talking about Union Square Green Market and it's history. Not for the first time, she debates whether or not going to Playlist Live _is_ actually a good idea.

She's hardly of this calibre.

* * *

The crowds outside are thick enough that Betty starts getting anxious, craning her neck and trying to see above people even though she's on the short side; it's futile, and it's a fact she's known for years, and yet -

Veronica notices her disposition and reaches for her arm, threading her own around Betty's and pulling her back to the present.

"I know you're nervous but really - everything's gonna be fine. We're going to have a blast. Archie!" she calls the last part out, waving him over with an excited hand.

The white in Betty's knuckles fades back to flesh tone.

"Hey," Archie greets them both, leaning in to peck Veronica's waiting cheek. "Jug says it's a bit of a mad house inside, but to try and find him if we have time."

Betty's stomach clenches and as it turns out, he's not wrong. The trio makes it inside the building, lanyards stuffed with the appropriate proof for admittance, and there's people _everywhere_. The crowd is like a living organism, bending and flexing and smoothing constantly. Off to the left, there's a stage - or it is two stages? - and there's loud noise coming from the speakers set on either side.

_Noise_. That's what this all is.

People jostle at her back, and someone bumps into her from behind, shoving what feels like an elbow in between her shoulder blades. It knocks some breath out of her momentarily and Betty has to mentally gather herself up in her arms because she can feel the tightening in her chest, the leaden weight of anxiety that she was so well acquainted with -

_Not today, Cooper. Today is not the day._

Betty takes a deep breath.

Veronica and Archie are busy chatting away about something, as then tend to do, and they're both so _not_ like her; there's a plan forming between them, a game plan for making their way through the event without losing each other or their minds.

"Betty!" Veronica hails her over with businesslike urgency. "Archie, hold this for a hot minute, will you?" She's pushing the paper they'd just had between them into his hands and directing him to hold it up for her benefit.

"A hot minute, or a hot -"

"Ignore him," V chirps cheerfully, pressing forward. "Okay, so, here _we_ are, and here's the booths and sponsor stuff, and here's the stages - _those ones_ -" she points out the obvious, "for presentations and shows and whatnot and _here's_ the skill-building stuff. You said you were interested most in that, right?"

"I _think_ so? I don't really know," she huffs out a laugh, willing herself to focus on her roommate's words instead of letting the busy atmosphere carry her away. "V, it's really busy here."

Veronica ducks her head in order to catch Betty's eye and squares their shoulders to each other. Her hands are clasping her upper arms securely, and Betty's momentarily distracted by V's glossy nails.

"Snap out of it, Betty. This is a _good_ thing," she impresses.

"A good thing," Betty repeats convincingly, willing it to be true.

"A _great_ thing," Archie adds, and the girls look up at his voice.

"You're sweet to be here, Archie, thank you," Betty gives him a thankful smile.

"Oh, Archibald," Veronica flutters, fingers tracing along the string of creamy pearls at her neck.

"What?" he asks, the tips of his ears darkening. He tries to brush it off with a shrug. "Ronnie tells me how much work you put into things, so... I just think you deserve to be here as much as anyone else."

Veronica simultaneously leans up and pulls him down by his shirt, kissing him firmly on the lips as Betty grins. They reinforce her bubble of confidence and she silently - so as not to interrupt their moment - thanks the universe for offering up that particular Craigslist ad at just the right time. They separate, and Betty follows after them into the crowd.

* * *

It's a whirlwind.

People chattering happily, bodies moving and expressing enthusiasm, cheering, faces turned to speakers in rapt attention, panels, winding lineups, emergency exits.

Betty soon realizes this is _exactly_ where she wants to be.

And -

As soon as she does, Betty finds herself as another added to the 'paying very close attention to something very specific' group. First it's a discussion about directional mics, and then it's about cutting clips together, and after that she's onto content development. By the time the late afternoon arrives, Veronica is slumped against Archie's side, and he's carrying her purse in the same manner he might sling a sweater over his shoulder - hanging on by one hooked finger.

Archie slows for a minute before raising his arm from around Veronica, giving a big wave to someone Betty can't see.

"Jug!" he bellows.

A tall, dark-haired person raises a hand to him in recognition over the people between them and soon Jughead Jones is weaving through the crowd, his path occasionally truncated by another pass-holder. His brows are dark, his eyes focused, and he slinks toward them. Betty notices, as she sees flashes of him approaching between other people, that he's sort of dark all over. Dark pants, grey plaid, olive-grey shirt. Suspenders hanging down around his knees. She didn't peg him for a 'useless pair of suspenders' kind of guy. And he's wearing a beanie in the middle of summer.

"Arch, hey," he says, eyes flicking between Veronica and Betty, who's trying not to seem too underwhelmed. "Veronica," he finishes with, inclining his head a fraction of an inch.

"Jughead, this is Betty Cooper, my roommate, the one I was telling you about."

Betty snaps her eyes away from the newcomer, cutting to Veronica's slightly-too-innocent looking smile. Betty realizes instantly that there is some sort of hidden agenda on her roommate's part and she doesn't really like where it's going.

"Nice to meet you," she holds out her hand, regardless. Jughead takes it in his own automatically, and the handshake is brief but strong.

"The one who just started making videos, too," V continues as if Betty hadn't said anything.

"Yeah." Jughead is still peering at her, the gaze neutral and detached. "I've seen a few; they're cute."

Was that really a compliment one said thank you for? By all accounts, this man had a rather outspoken opinion on most things under the sun and eloquently stated them whenever and however he liked. Betty's urge to roll her eyes was overwhelming so instead she gave him a somewhat tight-feeling smile.

"Hey, I'm starving," she says, mainly to Veronica, and effectively sidesteps the need to respond directly to his statement.

"Oh, food's _that_ way," Jughead points over his shoulder before lowering his hand, fingers scratching his side before patting his stomach happily. "If you're in the mood for a burger, Vera's is the stand to visit."

Betty excuses herself as politely as possible, and Veronica promises to be along in a minute.

"It was nice meeting you," she says by way of goodbye to Archie's friend.

"Likewise."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone leaving comments here and on my tumblr! You guys are super.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

She's still riding the high of expanding her creative horizons when it happens for the first time.

" _Why does everyone think @_ CoopDeGrâce _is so pretty I don't get it"._

Betty stares at the comment on her photo; her heart plummets to her belly button. She's only just started making an effort to post on Instagram more frequently, and the comments usually make her smile but this one…

The phone in her hands starts ringing loudly, and she jumps. The only person her phone actually rings _out loud_ for is Alice Cooper.

"Hi mom," Betty answers, her pulse still racing from the unexpected shock of intrusion.

"Elizabeth Cooper," she starts, her voice sharp, "why is someone using your name for an online local interest station?"

Betty covers her eyes with her hand for a second before replying, praying for some extra patience. The comment about her appearance still weighs heavily in the back of her mind.

" _I'm_ using my name, mom, _me._ It's me."

"What if someone, some creepy internet stalker, finds you?"

"I think you're overreacting." Betty can tell exactly how this conversation is going to go, and so she wedges the phone between her shoulder and her cheek, and reaches for her laptop.

"I thought you knew better. You learned about this in that Safety Summer Camp we sent you to -"

"It's not like I put my address up on the internet, asking people to come harass me," she scoffs. "Besides, my building has security and - all of this is pointless mom, I'm not a celebrity. You don't need to worry."

"You may not be Angelina Jolie, Elizabeth, but you are a young woman, alone in the city!"

"I'll be careful, okay?" she offers, exasperated. "I'm _always_ careful."

"Why don't you stop wasting time on this indulgent project, and get to work studying for school instead? Much safer," Alice pressed.

Betty sincerely likes to believe that her mother says what she does out of love, but sometimes it's hard to convince even herself that the woman has good intentions. There's a sharp pain in her palms, and Betty realizes too late that she's not stopping herself from tensing under her mother's long distance scrutiny. Fortunately, she hasn't broken the skin.

"No, mom."

"Betty -"

"No. This makes me _happy_. I _like_ making videos, and exploring my neighbourhood, and helping people. Plus, I've made some friends in the industry already," she continues.

Not exactly true, of course, because "friend" was hardly the word she would use to describe her acquaintance with Jughead Jones, considering she hadn't really _met_ all that many people intentionally.

Alice is silent for a few beats, and Betty resists the impulse to fill it with justifications for her actions. She's 20, for god's sake, and her own person. Moving to a big city - and away from her parents - was _supposed_ to help them realize that.

"It's what I want to do and I'm not stopping unless _I_ decide to," and she adds belatedly, "anyway, I have to go."

"Okay," her mom's voice holds a tone that clearly states her disbelief of the excuse, and her unwillingness to let the subject matter go. "Your skin is looking a bit dull, honey, so make sure you eat some greens!"

When they disconnect, Betty barely takes a moment to think before she's changing into her running gear and locking the apartment door behind herself. Her phone is powered off but in her pocket - for _safety_ \- and she dashes over to a nearby green space.

" _They're cute."_

" _Why does everyone think_ @CoopDeGrâce _is so pretty I don't get it."_

" _I thought you knew better."_

Her mother is completely ridiculous and wholly infuriating.

She's just about to drop herself onto the grass to stretch her hamstrings when she hears her name being called.

"Betty!"

Veronica is walking down the sidewalk, hand in hand with Archie -

And Jughead is with them. _Just_ what she needs.

"Hey girl," her roommate gives a wave as she skips over, leaving the boys to trail behind her. "We were thinking about grabbing food and doing a game night or something. Wanna join?"

Betty glances over Veronica's shoulder and debates it. The unhappy boil of a bad mood bubbles low in her stomach and she shakes her head. If Jughead happens to make another comment, she's pretty sure she won't be able to keep herself from snapping at him. That seems like a recipe for disaster, considering the man at hand.

"No thanks, V. I've got some aggression to work out."

"We're tough," Archie grins at her and she quirks a smile back at him thankfully. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his friend watching her intently.

"I know you are, Arch, but I don't want to be held accountable for any accidents or injuries," Betty quips, bending her knee and pulling her calf to stretch before switching to the other leg and feeling the pull in her muscles. "Next time though!"

"Are you sure?" Veronica raises her eyebrows. "I'll even help convince them that Veggie Grill is what they want."

"I'd like to see you try," Jughead pipes up, but Betty doesn't let her gaze sway from Veronica's face.

"Yeah, I'm sure." She leans in a fraction, focusing her attention pointedly on her friend. "My mom just called, and suffice it to say, she doesn't agree with my life choices. Again. _Still_."

"Oh," V breathes. "Okay, go pound it out."

Betty's jaw drops.

"Not like _that_! Or maybe exactly like that - whatever works, right?" she teases with a grin. "Pent up aggression is great in the bedr-"

"Oh my god, I'll see you later," she rushes because Archie's nodding in agreement with his girlfriend, and Veronica smirks.

"Later, B!"

She gives the boys a polite wave before turning back to the park and taking off at a jog.

* * *

A week later, she's pulling her notepad out of her pocket and approaching a table that was just seated, when she recognizes the grey beanie instantly.

"Aren't you hot?" she asks, finally not able to keep it to herself. It was suffocating weather and the patio doors were open wide, the noise of the street drifting into the restaurant.

Jughead turns to look up at her from his seat and he fixes her with a clear gaze. His mouth quirks minutely but he remains silent.

Realizing what she's said - _hot?_ It sounds like she's trying to hit on him, urgh - and she flushes fiercely. He's still peering at her intently, watching her skin bloom, and his face breaks into a small, self-satisfied smile.

"Now you're the one who looks hot, hmm?"

" _Please_ , I wasn't flirting with you and you know it." She moves to turn away.

"Either way, can I get the clubhouse?"

Betty looks back to him. He's in her section. She's his waitress. So, she can't really say no.

"Please?" he prompts after her silence.

As if scripted, she hears a loud growl from the vicinity of his stomach and fights the urge to laugh.

"I suppose so," she acquiesces. "Something to drink?"

"Do you have chocolate milk?" he inquires seriously.

"What are you, four?" she shakes her head, but she keeps her tone light.

"Is that a yes?" he calls after her retreating form.

* * *

Jughead polishes every last morsel from his plate before paying her, partly because he's starving but also because he's procrastinating on the reason he came here in the first place. Apologies aren't really his strong suit.

"Hey, uh," he hesitates after slipping his wallet into his back pocket, "I have this feeling you don't really like me, and I'm sorry if it's because I said your videos were 'cute'."

She stands there looking up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly he's concerned maybe he's not speaking English. He tries again.

"What I meant was that your videos are so inherently _good_. And light. And it suits you. It wasn't meant as an insult." He tucks his hands into his pockets.

"Then why that word choice? It was a decent amount of condescending," she snarks and puts a hand to her hip.

Fuck it.

"I had just met you, and you were standing there all - What was I supposed to say? I didn't know you, and I didn't want to say something that would hurt your feelings, which I still managed to pull off, though I can hardly say it's out of character. Do I look like the kind of guy who uses the word " _cute_ " to describe things on a regular basis?" he motions to himself.

"Honestly, I was shocked it was even in your vocabulary," she mumbles.

"So if you need anything, help with something or whatever, call me." Out of his periphery, he can see the arch of her eyebrow hike higher as he taps quickly on his phone. "There, you have my number."

"Wait, how did you get _mine?_ "

* * *

**A/N: It's Bughead or bust for me at this point.**

**Let me know what you thought!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you think it's better from this angle, or _this_ angle?" Betty asks Veronica, demonstrating two different camera positions.

"What's this for, your sex tape?"

"For the parts where I'm not doing voiceovers, and I'm on screen," Betty answers the first part of the question, and ignores the last.

"You're doing a voiceover for a _sex tape_?"

"Why are you convinced this is for a sex tape? That's hardly the focus of any video I've ever made."

"Cause you're filming in your bedroom, duh," Veronica motions to the bed in the background of the shot. "The last time I had a camera set up like this in my bedroom -"

"I'm filming in here because it gets fairly good natural light," she answers, monotone, really not wanting Veronica to finish the sentence she's started. "Besides, to film a sex tape, you need to have sex. At least, I think that's how it works."

"When was the last time you went on a date?"

"A homeless guy tried to hold my hand on the subway last week," Betty hedges.

" _Ah_ , romance," Veronica smiles wistfully.

"So?" Betty prompts, gesturing to the camera once more.

"I don't know, Betty. I'm not qualified to give an opinion on this," V dallies.

"Like that's ever stopped you."

"I'm hurt," she presses a hand to her chest gently.

"No, you're not. Just tell me what you think," Betty presses, exasperated.

"I don't know. Call Jughead," she suggests with a flippant hand gesture, turning to retreat from the room.

This gives her pause. Veronica Lodge, Queen of Subtlety.

"I don't have his number."

Veronica stops and turns back, pointed finger raised, with a wide, happy grin spread across her olive-toned features.

" _Lies_ , Betty Cooper. I know for a _fact_ that he gave it to you. I thought you were a good, wholesome, truth-telling woman. All this time, I've been wrong. Are you even a _true blonde_?"

" _Fact?_ " Betty prompts for an explanation, hand reaching up to tighten her ponytail.

"Jug told Archie, who told me," she answers, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Which, really, it is, now that Betty thinks about it.

Shit.

"Why do you want me to talk to him so much?" Betty flops back onto her bed.

"Because he mopes around after every time he sees you and you don't pay him any attention," Veronica states. "Archie says it's really weird and he's never seen anything like it. Why are you _avoiding_ talking to him so much?"

The fact was, Betty was making a concerted effort not to think about Jughead and his apology, and she wasn't entirely sure why herself. He was blunt, concise, and razor-sharp, if his content was anything to go by, and it unnerves Betty. She tries to push the distinctly hopeful gleam she'd seen in his eyes last week out of her mind, but she was too late.

"Call him for help or call him for a date?"

"Must the two be mutually exclusive?"

He uses his bottom lip to clean chocolate milk staches from his top lip. He runs his fingers through his hair. He's tall. When he focuses on her, it's like he can see right through her. His thumb joint juts out in a way that makes her feel something dark uncoil along her spine. He's _dangerous_ , she thinks.

"I rest my case," Veronica's voice snaps her back to real life. Betty flushes hotly, not bothering to look up at Veronica's pronounced exit. She lays in silence for a few seconds, minutes even, and pulls her phone out of back pocket.

" _its jughead"._

The message has been sitting, unopened, in her texts for the last few days.

* * *

He's skimming the latest coverage on the refugee situation in Syria when his phone vibrates.

"Hello?" he answers, distracted, not even looking at call display.

"Hi," chirps a voice on the other end.

"Betty?" he sits up straight, caught off guard.

"Yes, Betty," she laughs lightly.

"Uh, hi," he sputters. "What's up?"

" _What's up?"_ Jughead grimaces silently at himself. A trend was starting to form; Betty Cooper provoked bad word choices.

"Do you like food?" she asks cryptically, and he frowns.

"That would be an understatement. Why?" he asks, suspicious.

"There's a Food Truck Fair at Summer Streets this year and this weekend is the last weekend it's on," she answers, and he can't resist a stupid grin at her words.

 _She didn't hate him_.

"I'm going to interview some of the owners for an entrepreneurial piece," she announces, "and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me." She's dead silent after that, but his brain registers nothing for several moments. It jumps back into gear and he's saying words before he even knows what words to say.

"You had me at food trucks."

* * *

He's not sure _what_ he's expecting the following Saturday, but Betty shows up in jean shorts with a red bandana tied in her hair and two coffee to-go cups balanced in a tray, and he's speechless.

"Morning!"

"You're perky," he states flatly.

"I thought you would be, too. Food, remember?"

"Ah, yes, but at the expense of solitude. I'm almost never sure if that's a price I'm willing to pay."

"Maybe you just need a cup of coffee," she suggests, and throws him a bright smile when he accepts the one she holds out for him.

Truth is, he'd been ready for her arrival and their departure for the last hour, spending that time trying to keep a level head. Something about the thought of Betty Cooper made his heart beat a fraction faster, and he'd been resolutely ignoring the obvious explanation of "crush". Jughead doesn't get crushes. Jughead coasts through life on a mission to accomplish his goals; he works on his book every day, he stays up to date with relevant industry news, he investigates crime and politics.

When they leave his walk-up and make their way to the nearest subway station, and he realizes that she's come all the way out to Brooklyn to fetch him, when she could have just stayed in Manhattan and let him come to her.

Summer Streets was a festival sort of thing that happened a few weekends out of every summer, where the city shut down Park Avenue from Foley Square to East 72nd, turning it to a giant, street-wide sidewalk. People swarmed up and down the thoroughfare for as far as he could see. They were both equipped with their cameras, hanging on straps around their necks, and Betty's backpack held the essentials; water, sunscreen, more water.

"I don't see any food trucks; did you lie to me?" Jughead asks suspiciously, glancing down at her beside him as they perch on the edge of the actual sidewalk and survey the situation.

It's loud, there's music, and so many people. But all he can concentrate on is her grin and he tries not to stare.

" _No_ ," she scoffs. "I just thought you'd last the walk to Midtown where the food is. I wasn't aware you needed sustenance so soon."

"Tricksy," he mumbles, turning away from her and adjusting his beanie.

"Thanks, Gollum."

He pretends not to hear her, but he knows she's still smiling.

"I hope you know lunch is on you."

* * *

In keeping with the whole summer up until this point, it's swelteringly hot, and Betty makes sure they both stay hydrated as they join the crowds and make their way slowly from Soho to Midtown. It's colourful, and loud, and there's lots of kids darting between legs and fair food stands along the way. Jughead devours the mini-donuts she buys, and while he's distracted with the tiny powdered morsels, she gets her face painted on a whim.

"Oh my god, now who's _four?_ " he asks, his laugh sounding full-bodied.

Betty likes the sound of his laugh.

"Excuse me," she feigns offense, swerving to step around some bodies gathered in conversation. "This is the most beautiful flower I've ever seen. Don't hate."

When they finally make it to Midtown, Betty is delighted to see that the food trucks have parked uniformly up and down Park Avenue, sort of chevroned together, angled in such a way that the thought of a picture of them from a good angle makes her heart pitter-patter with inspiration.

There's people everywhere, though, and she can't get a good shot. When she tries lifting her camera over her head to get the job done, she's not happy with the result.

"Would you mind using your significant height to take a picture of the trucks for me? I can't see what I'm doing from down here."

"Give me your camera." He holds out his hand expectantly, eyes focused on the scene in front of them, and she can see his gears clicking.

But instead of lifting it to his eye and snapping a shot for her, he sets both his camera and hers down on a nearby picnic table. Betty frowns as she watches, but he holds out his hand again and she takes it, allowing him to guide her to step up onto the bench. He turns his back to her.

"Hop on."

" _What?_ No."

"Why not?"

She pauses. _Why not?_

Carefully, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and climbs onto his back, his forearms supporting her easily.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me," he huffs out a laugh, and she feels his back flex under his shirt. "I may not be jacked, but you're a _pretty_ small human being, Betty, it's fine. Hold on."

Jughead hoists her up higher and higher, sending her body skyward easily, using the momentum created by his own crouched body shooting upwards to settle her on his shoulders instead. There's a high-pitched squeal in the vicinity and it isn't until she's shakily adjusting herself on his shoulders that she realizes it was _her_ making the noise and not some passing child.

He moves a little under her, shifting her weight around to find what she assumes is the sweet spot, and she accidentally knocks his beanie off. It flutters to the road, which is alarmingly far away from her at this point.

" _Really?_ This is the thanks I get?" he asks.

Shit.

"Hey," she reaches out to the nearest person. "Hey, excuse me. Jug, tap her shoulder."

He does and the woman turns around.

"Hey, could you hand me that hat? We're in a bit of a snafu." She points at it and the lady stoops to snag it up and hands it up to Betty, giving Jughead a smile in the process.

"Thanks," she gives the girl a wide grin before plopping the beanie onto his head and pulling it down in her best attempt to recreate his preference. Difficult, since she can only see his hair and the tops of his ears between her thighs.

_Between her thighs._

She needs a distraction because this line of maladaptive daydreaming will surely result in catastrophe.

* * *

Jughead is blushing ferociously, thankful that Betty can't see him from her spot on his shoulders. As he thought, she's light and he easily hitches her up and helps her settle. He can feel her shake when he starts moving, so rests his palms on her knees to steady her and reassure her that he's not going to drop her.

Handing her camera up to Betty, he places his own back around his neck and maneuvers over to stand where he thinks she wants the picture from.

"How's this?" he asks, trying to keep his voice casual.

It's hard to focus because her thighs are around his neck and her shins are dangling in front of him, and she's literally wrapped around him in a way he didn't even consider might be a little too personal for her.

"A little to the right," he hears her commentary, and follows instruction. "A little more. Stop."

He was right; she _is_ a small human. He knows she's there, because of his spacial awareness with women, but she hardly weighs much at all.

He can hear the _click-click-click_ of her snapping away and so he sets off into the crowd, holding her swaying ankles as he does.

* * *

**A/N: My babies. How sickening.  
**

**Let me know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

When her feet are back on the ground, Jughead spends the next hour or so filming Betty interviewing various food truck owners; he's absorbed the whole time. He doesn't think he's seen anyone in real life as charming and compelling as Betty Cooper, and the realization hits him like a barrelling truck.

Betty leaves him on the grass at the park nearest the Midtown Rest Stop, and ensures him she'll be back with food. When he next sees her walking toward him, she's balancing multiple containers and plates of things, and there's drinks poking out of her backpack. Jughead watches her sink gracefully, cross-legged, onto the sun-dappled blades.

"Alright, I got us a selection," she starts, shooting him a clearly relieved smile. "We have the classic chili cheese dog, a wrap with green things but also steak, these fish tacos - have you ever even heard of those? I didn't know they were a _thing_ \- and this delightful piece of cake."

"Wow," he mutters, impressed. "Dessert, too."

"Fit for a king, no?" she lets her backpack drop and pulls it around to take out a few bottles of lemonade and more water.

"Totally, Betts," he sits up and she pushes food toward him, picking up half of the wrap and taking a comically large bite for someone so small. "This is the best day ever."

She laughs lightly in a way that he recognizes means she doesn't think he's serious.

"I'm so serious," he clarifies, reaching for the chili dog and taking a Jughead-sized bite out of it. His eyes slip closed. This is what Heaven is. It's chili and cheese and hot dog.

They maintain a comfortable silence, dotted with such utterances as, "mhm, oh god - this is good" and "I think there's crack in this, try it right now". Jughead's pretty sure that by the time he swallows the last bite of cake, his jaw has gotten a considerable chewing workout, and it's the most content he's felt in a long time.

"Jughead?" Betty's voice brings him back to the present, and he meets her eyes from his reclined position. The food and the heat are making him drowsy and his arms are so comfortable under his head that he has to blink a few times to snap to it. She's reapplying sunscreen to her arms. "Why were you so cold?"

"When?"

"The first time we met."

He blinks away, resuming his gazing at the green canopy overhead, and thinks back to the first time he ever laid eyes on her in person through the crowd at Playlist. Golden hair, flyaways curling into her face, much like they were doing now, despite the fact that the red bandana was still knotted in place.

He's silent for a minute, trying to figure out how best to phrase what he wants to say; he doesn't often get invested in how other people feel about him, because it just doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. If they don't like him, they move on. And likewise, if he doesn't jive well with something, he lets it go. But he cared how _she_ saw him, and he cared how his phrasing made her feel.

Her gaze hasn't wavered, not for a moment the entire time he's been silent, and he raises his own to meet it, taking a breath.

"There's… I mean, I'm sure you've seen people mention us online, before we had even met. And I didn't want you to think you had to like me just cause people said we had some things in common. People overstep boundaries and…"

She waits quietly, hands stilling from the task of sunscreening her legs, and Jughead shifts again.

"It sounds stupid, maybe, but I didn't want you to feel like I was expecting your… admiration, or something. People online… they can be mean, and they can make you feel uncomfortable or pressured. I think it's even tougher on women, and I didn't want that for you."

Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap now and she's quiet for a second. She's still looking right at him, and he sees how the light brings out a spackle of amber in each iris.

"I really misjudged you, Jughead, and I'm sorry."

He's not expecting that and it stuns him.

"Thank you, for all that," she adds.

"Ha," he huffs, "don't thank me, my people skills made me go about it completely the wrong way, as we've since found out."

"Still." Betty's look seems to have a unique ability to pin him in place, so it's a good thing they aren't walking around right that second. He's torn between relief and despair when she looks away, turning the cheek with the painted flower on it toward him.

They wordlessly seem to agree to leave the serious conversation there, though. Soon, they're weaving through the crowd again, hunger satisfied, and it's late afternoon. The sun is still high and hot in the sky, and Jughead can feel the clammy sheen on his skin from sweating and cooling all day. He continues to follow Betty's sneakers through the crowds, idle chat occasionally interrupted by loud people and other patrons of the fair.

"I want to have a look at what we got today," Betty states a few minutes after Jughead starts noticing that she's waning. He reaches over to snag the handle of the backpack she's been carting around up until that point, giving her a pointed eyebrow when she looks up at him.

"Let me carry this now," he says, lifting it - it's not heavy, really, but when he offered earlier, she said should could carry it fine herself - and she slithers out of the straps. The floaty white top she's wearing, the one that had brushed his ears and tickled against his cheek when he'd been carrying her earlier, is stuck to her back. She gratefully dislodges it and emits a happy sigh.

Together, they trek back to Veronica's building, which doesn't take very long. After spending the day with her, Jughead realizes that she too isn't used to living in such a class-obvious building. They glance at each other silently as they ascend in the shiny, polished elevator, and Jug watches her toe off her sneakers and peel off her socks, placing her bare soles flat against the cool tile of the entry way. He's suddenly hotter by comparison.

He's looking around at the marble counters, clear of any real mess or clutter, and Betty follows his gaze.

"We have a maid," she starts, pouring them tall glasses of water from the filter in the fridge. "I've _never_ had a maid; it's still weird to me."

"The thought of someone else pawing through my things on a regular basis is enough to give me hives," he quips. She laughs, and the sound of it makes little fireworks explode in his stomach. Jughead smothers it by taking a long drag from the glass she hands him.

Without much in the way of discussion, they make their way to the living room and both start flicking through their cameras.

The apartment is excessive, but Jughead wasn't expecting anything less from Veronica Lodge. He may not have known her very long, but he knows he would have been surprised to see any property of hers less decadently appointed.

He's sitting on a couch he's pretty sure is covered in _velvet_ , and he's mildly suspicious of a nearby vase - it looks like it cost more than his entire post-high school education and being as clumsy as he's proven to be in the past, he makes a note not to knock it over.

Betty has a lot more to work with in terms of sheer volume; Jughead isn't so used to going out to parades or fairs to take pictures. He doesn't really cover that sort of stuff usually.

But there's still a few good ones.

A couple deep in conversation, their expressions making the whole photo. Children with unadulterated joy all over their faces. A close up of cotton candy that looks like an actual cloud.

And it becomes increasingly obvious to him, while flicking through his own photos and hoping she doesn't see, that he's managed to take a _lot_ of photos of Betty. What's more is, objectively, he can't really tell which ones are good, which ones are great, and which ones are _the_ ones to use for something, because, _surprise_ , they all look amazing to him.

* * *

Betty is laying in a bath of cool water, small waves from her floundering movements lapping at her thighs, when Veronica arrives home.

"Betty hurry up I need to know how your date went!" she calls through the bathroom door, and Betty's head splashes back into the water.

The whole day has been great, so wonderful and fun and completely devoid of stress, her mother's comments replaying in her head, and worries about the upcoming semester at NYU. But she was still processing it.

When she emerges, there's an open bottle of champagne on the counter and V is perched on a kitchen stool expectantly.

"Is there a particular reason for the champagne, or…?"

"Veronica Lodge doesn't need a reason for champagne. So spill," she pushes the other flute toward Betty and mimes toasting her.

"Well, _first_ of all it wasn't really a date. I mean, I don't think it was a date. I just asked him to go with me. I didn't say it was a date. He probably doesn't think it was a date either."

_How many times can you say date in one breath? Get it together, Betty._

"Woah, girl," Veronica blinks at her. "I didn't mean to provoke whatever panicky look you just gave me."

"I just -"

"It's okay," V nods, but proceeds to giggle as Betty's head sinks down to the counter and stays there. "Have more champagne."

* * *

**A/N: You guys have been so supportive! Also, I had no idea this would be so fluffy but many of you have informed me that yes indeed it can cause cavities. My bad.  
**

**Anyway, I'm new in these parts, so general PSA: I'm on tumblr under the same username and I'm pretty active over there, if you feel like interacting. (I'm also on fanfiction but I'm cross-posting this here. All my other work is mainly Harry Potter.)**

**Happy Monday!**


	8. Chapter 8

Before the week is up, Jughead receives a text from Betty.

_**Hey! Archie and Veronica invited me to go with them to Pub Trivia Night on Friday and I don't wanna be the only third wheel. Come be another third wheel so we can third wheel together.** _

_**You forcing me to socialize is starting to become a trend**_ _,_ he replies.

_**Please?** _

Jughead stares at it, her minimal effort sending him into easily-relinquished defeat.

_**Okay, where?** _

* * *

"He said yes?" Archie asked, bewildered, lip curled.

"Well, technically he said 'Okay, where?'," Betty answers.

"Okay, no, you don't understand. The success rate of me inviting him out is around 63% if no one else is tagging along, but it drops to like 18% if there's other people involved."

Veronica snorts loudly, Archie's comment catching her off guard and it sends her into a fit of giggles.

"It's… so true…" she squeezes out, wiping a finger under each smoke-lined eye to catch the moisture there. "He's so precious."

"Don't let _him_ hear you say that," Archie mumbles.

* * *

Friday arrives, and Betty works the day shift at the restaurant. They seem to have heard her prayers; they're loading her up on shifts and she's trying her hardest to maximize every dollar she makes in both wages and tips.

In between her long work days, she edits the Food Truck video down into something resembling a story, and uploads it. She had carefully snipped out any bits that Jughead appeared in, even if it was just a glimpse of his face in a storefront window. She wasn't sure he'd like to be included in her content by face, but all the same, she credited him in the downbar for his camera work.

Looking back on it now, Betty was even happier she had invited him along for the adventure; him being able to film _for_ her, instead of her carting along a tripod or propping the camera up on something, had seriously improved the video quality and made the whole thing cleaner in the end.

Betty schedules it to go live the next morning, and closes her laptop with a sharp snap.

* * *

"You literally ate my backup granola bar on the way here, how are you this hungry?" Betty asks, surveying Jughead and his current singular focus, which happens to be a basket of chicken wings.

"I'm always hungry," he states simply. It was true; he _was_ always down for food.

He can still feel Betty's gaze on him, unwavering, and so he uses his finger to push the basket a fraction of an inch closer to her in invitation, eyes flashing up to meet hers briefly.

"Sorry about the untimely demise of the granola bar, though I must say, he met a hero's death head on."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jughead sees Veronica share a glance with Archie at his words and he fights the flush blooming on his cheekbones. If he just ignores it long enough, it'll go away, right? Those were the rules, surely.

"What a champ," Betty rolls her eyes, looking away over the pub, still grinning.

"So have you ever been to Pub Trivia before, Betty?" Archie clears his throat, and Jughead catches his eyes momentarily.

"No," she answers. "Riverdale didn't have Trivia Nights. But honestly, I don't think I'll be a huge asset to the team so don't get your hopes too high tonight."

"That remains to be seen, B."

Jughead listens as the girls chat amicably, his attention swerving in and out of the lane it was supposed to be in. Betty's wearing a white dress, and the light fabric had spent most of the ride here brushing distractingly against his forearm and the back of his hand. The yellow cardigan she'd brought with her was on the seat between them now, though, and the itching in his fingers reaching a breaking point. He snagged it up, rolling it around between his hands before setting it on their table and wrapping his arms around it. The moment he set his head on the soft fabric, he was engulfed with the smell of Betty. It wasn't anything particular, really, as in… It didn't smell _like_ something, _like vanilla_ or _citrus_ or _godawful perfume_. It smelled like nothing distinct and yet it was a smell he was sure he'd be able to pick from a crowd at this point.

He closes his eyes.

"Wake me up when they get this thing started, will you?"

* * *

"Which four US states end in the letter 'O'?" the lady at the bar announces the next question.

Archie is busy mouthing the question over, Veronica is counting something off on her fingers, and Betty snatches up the little white board immediately.

"Which four US states end in the letter 'O'?" the lady repeats and Jughead summons a mental map of the US.

"Idaho," Betty starts.

"Colorado," Jughead adds.

There's a pregnant pause ot the table and all around them, other groups are hushed. There's an electric zing in the air, of expectation, of excitement, of competitive rivalry.

"Oh god, oh god," Archie's mumbling, hands spread over his face.

"Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Wyoming…" Veronica is whispering to herself, searching for any ending 'o's.

"New Mexico?" Betty breathes, and scribbles it down at Jughead's hasty nod.

"There's more, there's definitely more," Archie says and Jughead shoots him a look.

" _One_ more. Get it together buddy," he laughs quietly.

"15 seconds," the bartender announces again, her voice ringing out of the mounting calamity.

"Eastern seaboard," Veronica throws out and they start listing as many states as they can remember in hopes of an answer.

"Maine."

"New Hampshire."

"New York."

"Vermont, Massachusetts."

"Connecticut, Rhode Island."

"Oh my god you guys are -"

"Shut up and think, Arch!"

"Pennsylvania -"

" _Ohio_ ," they come to the same conclusion in unison, hushed and reverent, eyes wide and fixed on one another. Veronica grabs up the white board and scribbles it down just in time to hear another bartender yell " _Time!_ "

"Yes," Betty hisses, twisting in their booth to watch the point awarding. She brings her knee up onto the bench, and her shin presses into his thigh warmly.

Their team is awarded another point, hovering in the top three teams somehow. A round of highfives is had as they gloat to each other, eyeing up the competition.

"Rum, simple syrup, and lime juice is called?"

"A daiquiri," Veronica truncates their pattern of hasty answer-scrounging and Betty beams.

"How sure are you?" Jughead asks, taking a turn with the white board.

" _Very_ sure, Jughead." Her eyes glide over him, Betty leaning over his forearm to correct his spelling.

"They're gonna know what it says, Betts."

"Sure, but I don't want to lose a point on a technicality," she rubs out the blue whiteboard marker with a fingertip. "It's 'ai' there."

They gain another point easily.

"'Triskaidekaphobia' is the fear of what?"

They all look up, panicked, at that.

"Tris…"

"Phobia…?"

"Fear of the number thirteen," Archie states, looking entirely bewildered with himself for having an answer to one of the most obscure questions they'd received so far. "I don't know why I know that."

* * *

Jughead hadn't heard from her in days and -

Okay, it was starting to piss him off.

Not that fact that he hadn't heard from her; the fact that he was so restless and preoccupied with it. The fact that it was becoming a constant distraction.

Their Trivia Night could not have gone better if they'd rehearsed it. For all the warning Betty did to try and dissuade any over-hopeful notions about her intellect, that girl was a _definite_ secret weapon.

Cheeks flushed. Excited noises at the back of her throat. Jumping in her seat. A celebratory hug that turned into him piggybacking her home while Archie and Veronica lead the way through the streets of Manhattan.

"You're so smart, Juggie," she'd said to him, speaking in his ear. He'd turned his head to the side slightly, and he'd managed to ignore the fact that it had been for purely selfish reasons, to allow her lips to come as close as possible to the shell of his ear, to feel her breath there. He hadn't needed to adjust her on his back, but he'd done it anyway, causing her to whoosh a breath out on purpose, for his ears only. The faint smell of alcohol on her lips still persisted.

He'd been holding onto her thighs, brain trying not to imagine exactly where the hem of her dress was sitting as she clung to him, sure his grip at that moment would be enough that she would notice something strange.

But she didn't.

* * *

' _omg_ @jugheadjonesiii _and_ @CoopDeGrâce'

'@jugheadjonesiii _and_ @CoopDeGrâce, _a formal petition to address them as_ #bughead'

' _i need more_ #bughead'

' _pls let them have the cutest babies_ #bughead _'_

' _idek what_ @jugheadjonesiii _sees in_ @CoopDeGrâce'

Jughead had told her: don't go looking for the hurtful things people say online; it won't end well.

Logically, she knew it wouldn't. He was right. Don't engage. Don't go looking to get hurt.

And yet, she couldn't help scrolling through her mentions sometimes, just to see what people were saying.

A _lot_ were nice.

But -

A _lot_ were also not nice.

More comments on her appearance. Her nose was too small for her face, her eyebrows too pale. Her voice was annoying. She looked too perfect. She was doing what she did for attention, not to help people. She was a whore, a slut, a - no she couldn't even think _the_ last insult. She was using Juggie.

People seemed to latch onto their tenuous connection and exploit it for all it was worth, making her cringe. This was what he'd been talking about, at the Fair. People overstepping bounds and making other uncomfortable just because they had a screen between them to keep them from having to face their actions and the consequences they had on other people's lives.

Deep breathing wasn't helping.

Running wasn't helping.

Staying completely ensconced in her blanket wasn't helping.

"B, are you sure you're okay?" Veronica asked, pausing in her cracked doorway.

"Yeah," Betty started. Her voice was hoarse. "Yeah," she said again, clearer. "I'm just not feeling good."

* * *

**A/N: wow wow you guys are great and sure know how to make a girl feel welcome.  
**

**I never planned for this to be massive, and so the end is nigh. Just forewarning you.**

**xoxo**


	9. Chapter 9

To her relief, Veronica didn't press for details or try to pry any reasons from Betty on the subject of why she wasn't acting like her normal self, of what was wrong.

Betty was no stranger to thoughts zooming around her head, to bad moods lasting days, to obsessing over things to the point of insanity. The constant clammy sweat on the back of her neck was from the heat, not the dark place she seemed to be slipping into.

Even though she was fully aware of the slipping, it didn't make clawing her way back any easier. When she was young, she hadn't had a clue what the feelings meant, hadn't had a clue about how to halt them in their tracks, how to reverse and pull a metaphorically tight, three-point turn and get the hell out of -

Betty felt like she hadn't smiled in days, weeks. Months even.

Logically, that wasn't true, because she had been absurdly happy on Trivia Night barely a week before and so…

This was ridiculous.

She was a grown woman. She knew this was unhealthy behaviour.

No, _looking_ for stuff she knew she didn't want to see was the unhealthy part.

If anything, she knew that at least for a short time, she had to let herself _feel_. Even if, like now, it was a _bad_ feel. But the problem currently was that she was allowing it to drag on.

She'd ignored calls from her mother.

She'd ignored texts from Juggie.

She couldn't seem to face either of them right now.

Her mother, because she would say exactly the thing Betty didn't think she could bare to hear.

And Jug, because… He was Jug, and she didn't want to burden him with this. He'd done his part; he'd warned her on multiple occasions to let that stuff go, to ignore it, to pretend it didn't even exist. Social media blinders were what she needed.

Except it wasn't just about the stuff online. It was suddenly about everything. Her move to the city, her mother, her father, Jughead,school, her job.

Unfortunately, she couldn't get out of working. Her shifts during the week dragged by. Betty was making it to work barely on time, leaving as soon as she was able, and in the meantime, putting the barest amount of effort into looking like she was okay.

Today, though -

Today was her last shift for a few days off and she spent the entire eight hours in a battle with herself to keep from tearing up. An entire eight hours of trying not to think about any of the one-line comments, of the hurtful words, of the detrimental thoughts that had been populating her consciousness for too long.

Her body was _tired_ ; she never realized how tiring anxiety was until she was in the thick of it, and her inner turmoil was literally sapping everything she had. She had to carefully ration her limited supply of patience and relative good will towards the public, to stretch it out over the nine hours she would be away from her bed.

It was slow, and it was treacherous, and it felt like glass shards in her stomach. It felt like a lead weight on her sternum, unyielding, crushing.

She hadn't eaten in…

But Veronica had forced her to drink some juice earlier, the fancy kind that was a saturated, opaque green. It had tasted like _green_ , too, but V had assured her that it would help, to have something, anything.

In retrospect, it probably did help her.

She arrived home after trudging back to the apartment. In the elevator, her face stared back at her, unseeing and pallid. She closed the front door behind herself and started dropping things where they fell from her grasp; backpack, shoes, socks, a trail of discarded effects.

"Betty, how was - _oh_!"

She lifted her eyes to Veronica's, swallowing thickly, willing herself to _see_ instead of just -

"I need to -"

Betty pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it, still walking in the direction of the bathroom.

"I need to be clean, I need to…"

She didn't know what she needed really but -

"Okay," Veronica nodded, letting her pass. Betty could hear V's steps padding behind her. "Can I - can I help? I don't know how to help, please tell me."

Betty remained silent, shuffling into the large bathroom.

"Can you even tell me how? That seems like it might be…"

She shook her head, getting mad at herself for causing the shorter brunette problems. For distracting her from other, happier things. For roping her into taking care of her, somehow.

"I'm just gonna have a bath. I'll be okay," Betty says, trying her best, her absolute best, to make it sound genuine.

When she shuts the bathroom door, the latch clicking softly between the girls, Betty hears Veronica exhale and move away down the hall again. Tears spring to her eyes, like they'd spent the whole day under pressure and, actually, that was the truth.

Through extremely blurred vision, she manages to shed the rest of her clothing in a heap and turn the taps. Water starts filling the large soaker tub, and Betty cranks the 'hot' tap extra hard.

It's mostly a blur.

Stinging skin submerged into hot, hot water, angry and red. At first, she can feel the prick of her nails biting into her palms, pushing and slicing until there's a bit of red spreading and darting along her life line, marbling with the moisture from the bath water. But soon her nerves are numb to that particular bite.

When she takes to scrubbing her limbs with a loufa, the soap suds burn in the half-moons like they may as well be acid, and she hisses. Over and over, she scrapes the rigid edges of the sponge over her skin until it's soft and malleable in her hands from the water, the heat, and the work.

She's pink and tingling and the cool air of the bathroom outside the tub makes everything pucker painfully.

* * *

"Jug?"

Archie's voice called out to him from the kitchen, and when Jughead went to investigate, his ginger friend looked up from his phone with a serious expression.

He gives him a blank stare and a prompting gesture.

"Ronnie says that Betty isn't doing so good."

* * *

When she emerges later, Betty is swathed in her robe, the fibres catching against the patches of skin where she should probably not have scrubbed so hard. She notices at once that the apartment is empty, and she can't decide if she's more relieved or -

There's a loud, extended knock at the door, followed closely by another set, starling her with its sharp demand.

Betty wraps herself tighter, debating whether or not she wants to answer it.

Another set of impatient banging commences.

She's not sure who she's expecting, really, but it isn't Jughead. At least, it isn't Jughead with a frantic gleam in his eye, or Jughead missing his beanie, his hair windswept and untidy. It isn't Jughead with large, pleading eyes she's expecting; it isn't Jughead braced against her door frame, an iron rigidness in his limbs.

"Juggie?" she croaks. "What's wrong?"

"What's -" he starts, his voice cracking, and she feels a hot prickle on her waterline at the sound. " _You're_ asking _me_ what's wrong? Betty, _I_ should be asking _you_. I _am_ asking you; what's wrong?"

She sees him see her clench her firsts and she sees the decision to not let it go this time in his eyes and she knows he isn't going to leave until she gives him the truth. Jughead holds out his hand and she places one upturned fist into his waiting palm.

As soon as she lets her grip go slack, he can see the dark red half moons, she knows. His other hand flattened her fingers out gently, allowing him a closer, more complete look.

They stand there on the threshold together for a protracted amount of time, him just fixating on her palms and she knows, the cool air from the building swirling against the heated skin of her shins -

She _knows_ that if it was anyone else focused so singlemindedly on her scars that she would be uncomfortable and defensive and panicking.

Maybe it's because she has nothing left, that she does nothing under his scrutiny, but maybe it's because it's just _him_.

She feels his eyes on her face again, flitting, not knowing where to settle, not knowing where to get answers from.

"Is that an accident, or did you do that to yourself?" his gaze in intense, and she starts to open her mouth to answer when she realises that she's not talking about her formerly bloody palms; he's looking at the juncture of her neck and shoulder instead.

Betty presses her fingers, unseeing, to whatever he's focused on and it stings. A patch of raw skin from her bath. She pulls the roll of soft, plush fabric there away from her skin, exposing more angry red swatches as she goes.

"Okay, that bit looks like it needs some Polysporin, we should take care of that," he breathes, and the spell is broken. It's suddenly painfully awkward that they're standing in the hallway with the door still wide open. She retreats wordlessly, and he follows her closely.

When she sinks onto the edge of her bed, he makes sure she's still before he leaves her line of sight and comes back a moment later with a first aid kit he must have found in the bathroom. Her robe is loose and sagging off her shoulders, the cool air biting into her. The straps of her tank are rough against her skin but she doesn't move.

Jughead busies himself with opening and inspecting the contents in the case, extracting a few carefully chosen items. He bends lower to catch her eye before reaching for her slowly, asking permission.

She gives a hiccupy noise she hopes he'll take as consent.

Betty realizes as she watches him spread the antiseptic over the raw patch near her collarbone, that he's done this before. Maybe not exactly this, but things very close to this. His head is bent down and he's focusing away from her gaze, and it allows her a chance to notice how dark his eyelashes are, to count the freckles along his jaw.

When he presses a bandage over her skin, sticking down the edges, he's surprisingly gentle.

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you say anything when - days ago?" Jughead's voice is quiet, almost whispered.

"I couldn't. It's like it…" she shakily raised a hand to brush her throat, miming a squeeze that was barely apparent and looked away from his wide, sad eyes.

Even uttering _this_ much was _too_ much, usually.

Her eyes are only half-open but she senses his intention before it happens, and so she's not all that startled when his arms wrap around her gently. He coaxes her closer, pulling her to his chest.

* * *

He doesn't even care that she's soaking through his shirt with her tears. It's the very last thing on his mind. And yet, when she pulls away finally, pink and blotchy, face covered in moisture, and with a desperate need to blow her nose, she looks guiltily at the dark, damp patch she's left behind.

"Don't even try to apologize, Betty. It's a shirt. It'll get over it."

He sees her swallow and give one lonely nod, more to herself than anything else.

"You look like you need rest," he moves to brush the skin under her eyes with his thumb but thinks better of it, rubbing her normal-coloured shoulder instead. "You should lay down. Do you need anything?"

"I don't - I don't want to be in my bed. I haven't been able to - to -"

He nods, sombre. Instead, he stands and pulls her with him, leading her out to the living room and into hopefully neutral territory. Somewhere she hasn't just spent the last week wallowing and crying and forgetting all the strong parts of her even existed.

Jughead continues out into the living room, and pulls her down gently next to him on the couch. He's flying blind here; he has no idea if staying is what she wants him to do, or going, or anything in between. But it feels right, so he settles in the corner of one sofa and holds his arm up for her to settle under, which she does without any hesitation.

* * *

Later, after telling him all about her mother, herself, and the things that she just couldn't keep from bubbling over, after she knows she's drifted off with one of his arms around her back and the other around her front, with his hands clasped together at her side, keeping her body close to his -

Later, she hears Veronica's voice.

"You're a godsend, Jughead."

She's weightless and swaying, and suddenly being tucked into bed and it feels like she's let _everything_ else go, all of it, when she blearily reaches up as his warmth leaves her behind in her sheets -

"Don't go."

And he doesn't.

* * *

**A/N: I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine. Wait, I'm crying. Nevermind.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

Jughead lays in her bed, surrounded by things and feelings and smells that are inherently _Betty_ to him, with her curled up into his side and he thinks, even though he's covered in a large cross section of the bodily fluids she'd emitted earlier onto his shirt, that he's probably the happiest he's ever been.

There was the fact that Betty had been so upset and hurt and crying out for help, of course, but everything surrounding that was just so… _good_. Because _now_ , with him there, she was quiet. Sleepy. Resting. Not crying. Not shaking. Not tripping over her words in an effort to make sense. And slowly, very slowly, he saw her start to put the pieces of herself back together, before she'd fallen dead asleep.

He was there, and she clearly wanted him to be.

" _Don't go."_

The words had sounded, as they came out of her mouth, like she had her chest cracked open and her heart exposed before him.

And in a way, that had probably been the case.

In the end, he was no more capable of leaving than he was of… well, anything, really, because he was not leaving. Not for a second.

Veronica had turned the light on the bedside table down low on the dimmer, and Jughead had long lost the ability to be embarrassed or ashamed of how he was staring at Betty in the soft glow. Her eyes were shut, her breathing even, and he knew she was out. Her body sagged into his, the dead weight of her on his chest an excellent indicator that, yes, he had been right, she had _definitely_ needed sleep.

Her skin was still pink in places, tinged with speckled red in others, where the blood had started to pool at the surface of her skin as a result of her scrubbing. The bandage he'd put on the worst part was still there in place, and he ran his thumb over the other exposed shoulder. Betty snuffles and hugs him closer.

* * *

The summer sun is bright against her eyelids, and Betty flutters them open gradually. Her room is bathed in light, and the -

She moves to roll over and hisses out between her teeth.

It all comes back to her in an instant.

Blurry memories of water that was far too hot, of scraping skin, of the bloom of blood. But also the sharpness of the knocks at the front door, Jughead's limbs braced like rebar, the reverence with which he had bandaged her up.

Jughead.

" _Don't go."_

Betty pats over the other side of the bed, and determines it's vacant. She lets a heavy sigh slip from between her lips. He probably went home, and -

"Oh, you're awake."

Relief floods her system, dopamine making her brain fire rapidly at the sound of his voice.

"Hi," she croaks, voice rough and raspy. She can tell immediately that all the crying and tears from last night had used up whatever water content had been in her body, for her mouth feels like dry cotton, her teeth like they have a winter coat, and her head is aching.

Jughead is standing a few steps into her room, wrapped in a towel, his dark hair saturated and drooping into his eyes. Betty can see the bright sunlight glint off the water droplets on his skin.

"Hi," he responds, and it's soft. "I'll be right back."

He's gone for what hardly seems like a minute or two, back, but this time he's dressed.

"How are you feeling?" he asks her, watching her face intently.

"Sore, kinda," she breathes. "But better. Thank you."

His eyes dart away, unsure, or embarrassed, or -

"No, really," she starts again, hooking a finger around two of his and making him glance back to her face. "Thank you."

* * *

"I'm so sorry you thought you were alone," Veronica speaks, quiet. "I went to go get Jughead, after you came in and were so… distraught. It was quicker than him trying to train over, when time was of the essence, I thought…"

"Really, it's okay, V," Betty assures her. "I'm really - it's fine. It's more than fine."

The raven-haired woman crushes her in a fierce hug.

* * *

"You should consider making a video about it."

Betty looks up at Jughead as she's connecting the wires he's pointed out to her.

"About online bullying and hurtful comments. It's just a suggestion, but I think your personal experiences would only add conviction to the words you say."

She's over at his place, helping him set up for filming something, he hasn't specified what, but she's been doing this for weeks now. They'll set up for filming something for one of their channels, leave the other to it for a bit, and then go get food. Or go to the movies. Or stay in and watch TV. Or read in the park. She even convinced him to go glow bowling with her last week, an event that had shocked Archie into what he jokingly described as a very premature heart attack. They do lots of things together these days.

And Betty knows it's probably because he feels some sort of responsibility, to which she's tried to make him understand, he has none. He's relentless, however.

"It's not really my norm. Bit depressing, don't you think? You really think I should cover something like that?" she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear and reaching for more connections. The camera is already set up, and Betty hooks it to the monitor Jughead uses to make sure he's in frame while talking.

"Why not? Hard hitting Betty Cooper is my favourite Betty Cooper," he gives her a nudge as he passes behind her.

"I wasn't aware you had a favourite me," she quirks, spinning in his chair to follow him.

"Well, if we're being honest here, I like _all_ yous."

The tips of his ears are red, and so are hers.

"And also," he pauses, and she watches his Adam's apple bob, his eyes still focusing on his task, "I'm really happy you're doing better now. With everything. With knowing the difference in value between how you see your worth and how others do. Others who don't know you. Who have no right to comment on your life."

"It's mostly thanks to _you_ , Jug."

Betty reaches out to squeeze Jughead's bicep, and his hand covers it for a moment, giving a gentle squeeze back before dropping away again.

* * *

"This is nerve-wracking," Betty flutters. "I _still_ don't even know what to say."

They're setting up in her room, and Jughead's forced her to sit in her filming spot at the end of her bed and stay still while he adjusts the camera height.

"Never said it would be _easy_ , Betts. Just a good idea," he states, tightening a knob. "Once you get going, I'm sure it will come more easily."

They have this whole thing down to a science now, the setup and takedown of their equipment. Jughead has managed to teach her quite a lot about the filming and editing process, and given her the tools to improve her video quality immensely. And she's so so grateful.

That's all she can think these days. She's just _so_ grateful to him. For everything.

He's just clicking around in the camera settings and adjusting something for her, when her staring finally catches his eye from over the lens.

"Yes?" he prompts, giving her a hesitant look, like he's sure it's probably just because he has something on his face.

Betty's stomach lurches.

"Do I look okay?" It comes out as barely a mumble.

His chin drops and he gives her a _look_. Betty's skin burns with embarrassment under his gaze. She's not supposed to be letting those thoughts get to her.

"You know what I mean," she huffs out, knowing that she's fiddling with her hair too much, adjusting her clothes too often. "Do I look _camera_ okay?"

His hands still.

"The answer for that is the exact same as the first iteration," he reassures her.

He means, _yes, you look beautiful_ , but he doesn't say it in so many words. She doesn't normally need him to, because it's always perfectly clear to her what he means.

"Juggie."

His fingers brush her hair back off her cheek and she can't decide if she should hold his gaze or look away, flushing either way.

"Yeah, you do," he answers her question.

When she finally posts the video she filmed, edited down into some form of something she hopes makes sense, Jughead retweets it with no explanation.

Just the crown emoji.

* * *

It's been weeks, maybe even a month, since she posted her video, the one Jughead encouraged her to film. She's had a great response, so far. People have restored her faith in humanity a little bit.

She's home today, notebook open and coloured pens spread out around her. She's making notes and brainstorming topics and searching local event listings for the next month, still in her pajamas.

Betty's phone dings, and she looks over to see a text from Veronica.

**Betty call me right now this instant.**

Frowning, she does. Veronica picks up on the first ring, her voice elevated in excitement.

" _Have you seen your instagram lately because Jughead tagged you in something that's…_ "

"What?" Betty asks, puzzled.

Her and Jughead have never ever posted or tagged each other in things, specifically because the internet likes to hound them even when they don't mention each other by name.

"He _tagged_ you in a post and you need to go see it. I'm _dying_ , oh my god, go now and tell me what happens later. I can't believe that boy, he's so extra."

Betty hangs up, perplexed, because not many people would describe the brooding man as ' _extra_ ', but she opens the photo app anyway.

Jughead _has_ actually tagged her in something, a video he posted 8 minutes ago. It starts to play and she taps for volume.

"What do you _mean_ you don't like mustard on hot dogs, that's a travesty," video Jug is telling video Betty, and she recognizes it from a few weeks ago when they were experimenting with his lights setup. She herself is attaching a light diffuser to a stand, off to the side of the camera frame.

Behind her, Jughead is sitting in his rolly chair with a small smile on his face and piece of paper in his hands, holding it up specifically for the camera to focus on.

All it reads is ' **Betty** ' in his familiar scrawl, and she frowns a little, confused.

The next clip is similar, but a different day, a different video they're prepping.

"Uh, no, you can't say that, it sounds super pompous," she's telling him. "I mean, unless your goal is to sound like a jackass."

But the paper he flashes up to the camera when she's not looking says ' **Cooper** ' this time.

Her stomach starts to gurgle unsurely.

The next snippet is yet again different. Neither of them are fully in the shot but their voices are close to the mic.

"Are you positive you don't want to go rollerblading with me?" she's pleading, and they both lift opposite ends of his desk to shift it for the shot.

"I have the coordination of a newborn giraffe, Betty. The day will finish with us in urgent care."

Video Betty sighs dramatically and crosses in front of the camera briefly, mumbling under her breath, and another slip of paper is held in front of the lens right after.

' **Will** '.

And on it goes, through flashes and glimpses of them, just seconds of insight into their behind the scenes workings.

' **You** '.

"I'm starving so hurry up and film cause I need Thai, like right now," video Betty is saying. "It's absolutely necessary." Video Jughead rolls his eyes and holds a piece of paper up.

' **Go** '.

"No, here, your hair looks weird," video Betty rearranges the swoop of his dark hair as he looks up at her, holding a post-it note behind her back for the camera.

' **Out** '.

"Could you maybe not be so sassy, jeez," Jughead is passing behind Betty when he flashes more paper at the camera over her head, and she's spinning yet again in his desk chair and not even remotely paying attention to what he's doing.

' **With** '.

"Here, I made you a sandwich so you don't lose your shit and ramble for an hour," Betty's hand and arm reach into the shot and set a plate down in front of a delighted looking Jughead.

' **Me?** '

The screen flashes black before the loop starts again, but Betty can't see anyway. She's shaking and grinning and her stomach won't stop flipping so she reaches for a pink post-it.

* * *

He's so nervous after posting the video that he has Archie hold his phone and watch to see if Betty calls.

Or texts.

Or whatever.

He spent the whole time editing those clips together wondering if he was doing the right thing, if she would be so mad that he posted something with her in it without asking permission, but Veronica had assured him over and over again that Betty would love it.

"Dude, chill," Archie is laughing. "She's gonna say yes."

"You don't know that! What if I just fucked everything up?" he tosses his beanie onto the couch and drags his fingers through his hair.

"You didn't. Ronnie said, and I quote, " _it's so romantic, Arch, isn't it?_ " so I think you're gonna be fine."

"Romantic," he scoffs.

He's sweating, his stomach hurts, he can't keep still.

"Bro," Archie pipes up.

"Yeah, yeah, _relax_ , I know," he sighs.

"No, bro, she tagged you back."

The ginger tosses his phone back to him, and he catches it in shock.

Oh, shit, it's judgement day.

The app doesn't load as fast as he wants it to, and he tamps down the urge to throttle it, because throttling technology is not generally helpful.

It's a photo.

It's Betty, golden hair piled into a bun on top of her head, with a stupid grin on her face, her eyes crossed and her tongue poking out from between her teeth. He notes immediately that she's still in her pyjamas, she's got no makeup on, and he's just so proud of her for not even caring.

And there, stuck to her forehead, is a bright pink sticky note that reads ' **YES** ', and below, the caption:

'You had me at food trucks'.

* * *

**A/N: First day of filming Season 2, so I think it's fitting to post the last chapter today.  
**

**Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, kudos'd, bookmarked, alerted, faved, and come to find me on tumblr. You guys are awesome.**

**Let me know what you think, now it's over, and keep an eye out for more Riverdale. I'm working on something else for these guys, too.**

**xoxo**


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